


Like a Lung Filled with Coal, Suffocating Slow

by Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory



Series: Bloodlines [3]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Dark, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2447276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory/pseuds/Lines_of_Pain_and_Glory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blue, black.<br/>They paint each other’s skin, clawing, clinging, as though they might still catch hold of everything they lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Lung Filled with Coal, Suffocating Slow

Black.  
His vision is fading into it, oblivion, release.

Blue, black.  
They paint each other’s skin. Clawing, clinging, as though they might still catch hold of everything they lost.

Pretend black is white.  
“I love you, Lizzie.” God, he loves her, if not in the way he ought. She looks just like her mother, another woman he ought never to have loved like this, the curl of her toes, the curve of her throat, head thrown back.

Coughing up black.  
She lay dying, fighting for one last breath to tell him what he’d suspected, what she’d denied, “She’s yours.”  
He’d sworn he'd keep her safe, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her, huge blue eyes, sad, frightened, so innocent of all her parents’ sins. Sam had wanted out anyway. It had been the easy thing. He'd told himself it was the right one.

As black as he is painted.  
“Daddy…” with a little roll of her hips, it’s gone, the dream he’d clung to that maybe her innocence could still redeem him.  
She looks just like him, eyes cold and merciless, twisting in the knife, that smile of triumph on her lips.

“You’re a monster.”  
“I’m what you made me.”  
He can’t bear the sight of her, debouched, corrupted, a damning splendor spread across his sheets.

Black silk.  
The cord tightening around his neck.  
They’ve lost their appeal without her, the Piazza del Campo, the South Pacific at sunset.  
He won’t sleep like an innocent again until he’s dead.


End file.
